The answer to Nepal’s brain drain

I used to focus on tech as a business, but I realized there is a higher calling. It is why I shifted to directing the Dharma Farm, an institution that seeks to preserve culture through education in linguistics, history, and environment. Nepal is blessed with an extraordinary array of cultures, cultures exquisitely worthy of saving. Yet, so many of its inhabitants want to leave.

Commonly referred to as “brain drain,” the concept denotes the departure of a society’s highest educated or most skillful members to other places in search of opportunity. For Nepal, it is a critical problem. In 2022, the government issued certificates allowing as many as 165,000 students to go abroad for education. That represented a rough doubling of the number the year before. Added to that were somewhere around 800,000 Nepalis people who left for employment. These numbers continue to rise year-on-year. According to The Kathmandu Post, “only a handful” of students return upon graduating from foreign universities.

This indicates a core part of the problem. Having spent a great deal of time in Nepal among students, a common theme emerged, one not exclusive to Nepali youth, but especially troublesome nonetheless. Many authors and policy analysts have proposed a number of strategies to mitigate the brain drain problem, most of which have merit and demand serious consideration and implementation. They have suggested ideas such as improving the education system, focusing on economic innovation, and promoting good governance. One resolution strategy, however, has received relatively scant attention. It is this point that I hear youth ignore more than any other, but it is the single most effective answer to the problem.  

In the American business world, we often employ the phrase “pass the buck.” The phrase connotes the shifting of blame for a problem or the responsibility to solve it. After hundreds, if not thousands, of conversations with Nepali youth, passing the buck is the tacit response for how to improve the situation in Nepal. For them, the issues that drive them from their homeland belong to someone else to solve. Heading overseas represents an easier solution to enhancing their own circumstances than tackling the underlying causes for why they leave in the first place.

To justify this reasoning, they will point to obstacles that appear beyond their individual ability to surmount. Indeed, systemic problems do exceed the capabilities of nearly all individuals to fix them. Ignoring them, however, does nothing to diminish any specific obstacle, let alone a system-wide deficiency. As the saying goes, “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” neither was it built by any one man or woman. So it goes for Nepal.

Over my career, I taught problem-solving strategies in a wide variety of fields. Firefighting, policing, technology, and translation all raise serious challenges that can be quite daunting at first glance. My method always began with reductionism. Any task, no matter its complexity, is eminently less burdensome if broken into its component parts. Whether the duty at hand involves solving a computational bug in a piece of software or battling a forest fire, compartmentalizing the obligations to fulfill, and then completing them one-by-one guarantees a far higher chance of success at resolving the overall dilemma than attempting to undertake the entire thing at once.

There is no question that turning Nepal into a bastion of opportunity will be hard. Leaving the litany of matters in need of attention to someone else is far easier than staying behind and working to address them. Facing the challenge will require numerous sacrifices and an abundance of energy and creativity. But, consider this. If the youth does not do it, who will? They cannot expect their parents, the government, or some nebulous “other” to manage things for them. Despite the good intentions any of them may have, they are simply unequipped to go it alone.

If the youth insist on leaving, then little will change. Nepalese remaining behind will continue to struggle to eke out a living in increasingly empty cities and villages. The beautiful plains of the Tarai and the majestic mountains of the Himalayas will lose the cultures that supplement their magnificence, opening the door for exploitation by outsiders who recognize only their materialistic value. Meanwhile, Nepali youth will move to new lands in pursuit of capitalistic opportunity. In the places in which they settle, however, they will never truly feel at home. At best, their cultural uniqueness will simply blend with countless others, diluting into an austere version of its once splendid self. At worst, it will serve as a constant reminder of its foreignness in this new land they now blandly call “home.” And all the while, the very home they left will slowly cease to exist as they knew it.

I am not writing these words to criticize anyone. Rather, I come from a country whose cultural landscape consists of a vast mix of them, but with little identity of its own. Having been immersed in both mine and Nepal’s, I am unafraid to state that allowing Nepal’s cultural liveliness to degrade into a mere shell of itself would be a tragedy of epic scale. Moreover, once such a catastrophic result is reached, there is no going back. Frittering away such a jewel out of fear of or indifference toward facing problems will summon a specter of regret that will haunt innumerable generations to come.

For the young folks reading this: what I have described is not the inevitable future of Nepal, if you do not want it to be. If that is indeed the case, then the brain drain needs to be plugged. The brilliance I have observed among so many of you needs to be turned inward, to focus on conquering challenges, one small step at a time. It won’t be easy. But your family, children, and country will forever thank you for it. The answers lie within.